June 2, 2018

worship the sun god

Keeping pace with so many other mornings at the Lodge, I am up before the sun to take my meds at their regulated time, and I am compelled to sit with a book or my laptop and bide my time until I can watch the sunrise through the east-facing window on the left.  I sit drowsing, slipping into a few seconds of dream state here and there, sipping coffee that doesn't stand a chance, for I will return to bed to finish my sleeping after colors blend into pure white light and the sun's rays shine into the room.

I rise while it is still dark out.  Rose needs water, needs to go outside.  I appear without fail each morning, meet needs, prove faithful, and then send her back into the bedroom to finish her sleep, knowing that I rose.  I close the door quietly behind her, silent as light, and continue my small advent.

P.J. and the kid and I had a discussion in the van on the way up last night about the worship of the sun as a god.  It made far more sense than the conceptualized tendency toward monotheism pointed at an invisible and contrived entity.  Tenerife in Africa; Gnowee in pre-colonized Australia; Surya for the Buddhists; Gaulish in Ireland; Yuyi in China; Amun Ra in Egypt; Helios; Sol; Ravi; Inti; Utu; Atarapa; Koyash.  It reached every corner of the earth, every continent and island and people.  It made sense.

The sun rose every morning and traveled across the sky, then departed and left darkness in its wake.  It brought life and food; it scorched in its wrath and brought frost when it hid its face.  It gave safety from the predators of the night; it allowed the daily tasks of living to sustain.  And it was ever faithful, ever part of their lives.

Would it be any wonder that acts of worship would coincide often enough with desired outcomes to foster deep belief and certainty?  Random reinforcement appears again; it only served to strengthen belief.  Science had not come along to remove the mystery and connect it to the lesser lights of the heavens.  You could see the sun, feel it, touch its heat, and be blinded by its majesty if you dared to gaze upon it.

We're approaching the summer solstice and today the sun appeared too far to the northeast for me to see the red-orange fiery ball peek above the mountain ridge.  It was hidden by a poplar tree, by leaves nourished green and moist by warmth and light.

I can return to slumber now.  The earth spins and the sun rose.  Understanding why it happens does not diminish our absolute dependence on Sol to rise each morning.

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